I’m surrounded by all of you
The paintings that I don’t understand.
The paintings that you keep forcing down my head.
“What was your earliest memory?”
I was on a boat.
A net sank deep into the dark water,
And blood-red crabs emerged.
I said that, and a box full of change fell.
They echoed across the hallway.
“Sounds like Swedish wood.”
And we continue to miscommunicate.
The woman that is behind the painting
Blue and green, patterns of zygotes
Your eye keeps following me.
Your eye makes me hard and makes me desire death.
Curving a sickle to tear open guts.
Sun and steel, the body mimicking desire.
And I can’t stop thinking
What your eyes see, and if they are dilating because of me.
Are there any paintings left for us to Eat?
© A.R. Minhas 2018
